


Hero Worship

by Snegurochka



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-04
Updated: 2009-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snegurochka/pseuds/Snegurochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which James has a hero, Al has a crush, Viktor has cold feet, and Charlie just wishes at least two of them would stop being such bloody drama queens about it all.</p><p>6,100 words. NC-17. Charlie/Viktor, with non-pairing appearances by James and Albus Severus. LGBT themes. Written for a 'handjobs' theme at daily_deviant. May 2009.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hero Worship

"UNCLE CHARLIE. _VIKTOR KRUM _IS IN MY SHOWER."

Flapping his hands and managing an entire circuit of the small cabin in the time it took him to shriek the words, James took in a gulp of air before skidding to a stop in front of the desk.

Charlie finished signing the last of his stack of salary cheques before glancing up and deliberately focusing on the wrong detail. "_Your_ shower?"

James's eyes went wide as he threw his hands up, barely able to get the words out. "Mine. Yours. Al's. Group shower. The _shower_. Over in the rec hall. YOU KNOW WHICH ONE."

Charlie leaned back in his chair, rubbing his jaw. "So, not the dragons' shower, then."

There was a snort from the sofa against the far wall. Charlie grinned.

"DRAGONS DO NOT SHOWER. OH MY GOD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU."

"Oh my God, stop shouting so much." Al swung his legs over the side of the sofa and sat up, exasperated. "It was probably just Claude, you dumb fuck. Not every bloke with dark hair and an accent is Viktor fucking Krum. You're worse than Uncle Ron."

"Hey, language," said Charlie, folding his arms over his chest, but Al just rolled his eyes.

"It was _him_," insisted James, swatting Al on the back of the head.

"Yeah? And what do you figure the greatest Quidditch player in the history of the game is doing shovelling dragon shit, genius?"

"What are _you_ doing knowing which naked bloke's name is _Claude_, you nancy pervert?" James shot back.

On his feet in seconds, Charlie grasped James around the forearm and twisted it. They were about the same height these days but James had nothing on Charlie's bulk, his thick fingers easily bruising James's wrist. "You want to watch your mouth, son?" said Charlie quietly.

The flare in James's eyes extinguished in a single breath, and he dropped his gaze to the floor, muttering a stilted apology.

Releasing his grip and breaking into an easy smile all in one gesture, Charlie stepped back. "Al's got a point, I'm afraid," he said to James. "Man like Viktor Krum'd have to have a bloody good reason to sit around at a dragon camp, when he could be making millions in Firebolt XL adverts in Los Angeles or something, don't you think?"

James scowled but said nothing.

"Come on, paparazzo." Charlie squeezed James's shoulder and pushed him towards the door. "Let's grab some dinner."

With a sigh and a muttered curse under his breath, James headed out of the cabin.

As he followed Al through the door, Charlie couldn't help himself. "So. _Claude_, yeah?" He gave Al a sly smile that only deepened when a hot flush crept up Al's neck. "You might try getting up a bit earlier," he added airily, setting off down the hill to the main compound with Al at his side. "He likes to take a swim in the lake down by the Ridgeback pen before his shift starts."

When he glanced back over his shoulder with a grin, Al was staring at him, slack-jawed, his face beet red.

*

They were halfway through their dinner, plates still piled high with potato stew and French bread, when James dropped his fork.

Glancing over at the clatter, Charlie paused his story to Al about the runty Welsh Green the camp had just adopted. "All right?" He followed James's wide-eyed gaze across the dining hall.

A dark-haired man of about forty, broad-shouldered and well-muscled but with a telltale slouch, was walking across the hall with a tray of food. Charlie blinked.

"I _told you_ it was him!" whispered James excitedly, jabbing a finger into Charlie's arm.

Al glanced up as well, gaping at the man.

"Well, how about that," said Charlie softly, tucking back into his dinner. "It's rude to stare, kid," he added to James.

"What's he doing here? You really don't know him? If you run the place, why didn't you know he's here?" The questions spilled from James's mouth in a rush. "Do you think he's helping with the dragons, or maybe just doing publicity? Do you think I can get an autograph? What do you think–"

"God, shut _up_," grumbled Al. "If you've got such a boner for the bloke, why'd you never get Aunt Hermione to get naked pictures of him for you?"

Charlie snorted.

James whirled on Al. "Oh, yeah, all right," he mocked. "You just _try_ asking her about him. Mum told me the same thing – okay, except the naked part, so fuck you – and Uncle Ron heard me ask and almost hexed my bits off. If she still knows him, we're not supposed to talk about it."

Al shrugged.

In another second, James had planted his palms flat on the table and taken a deep breath, his eyes still trained on Viktor. He pushed his chair back. "All right. Wish me luck."

Charlie paused, his fork in mid-air. "No, Christ, what are you–"

"Going to talk to him," said James with a firm nod of his head, still staring across the hall.

"James–"

But he was already gone.

Pressing his lips together, Charlie put his fork down and frowned. "Only been here three days, and he's already every bit the nightmare your father said he'd be."

Al shot him a grin. "Did he really?"

Charlie ran a hand over his face. "Sorry. Uh, don't tell him I said that."

Al shrugged, taking another bite of stew. "He's an idiot, but he's all right. Knows what he wants and goes after it," he added quietly, and Charlie watched his eyes shade with sadness. "Something to be said for that, in a way."

Glancing across the hall again to see Viktor looking rather alarmed as James talked his ear off, Charlie sighed. "Yeah. Guess there is."

*

The next afternoon, James came running in the door again at almost the same time, flushed and panting. Charlie glanced up from his desk as usual, but this time, James kept a lid on his enthusiasm.

Or he tried to, at least.

Pausing to take a few deep breaths, he casually brushed his hair out of his eyes, grabbed a book from the shelf and sat down on the sofa to read. Beside him, Al closed his Magical Creatures textbook and exchanged an amused look with Charlie.

"Didn't know you were a fan of Solzhenitsyn," called Charlie.

"What? Oh." James frowned at the book. "Yeah."

Smirking, Al leaned forward and plucked the book from James's hands –

"Hey!"

– and turned it right side up.

"You– oh." Throwing the pair of them a filthy look, James slammed the book shut and glanced at the cover at last. "Why the fuck do you have Russian books in your cabin, anyway?"

Charlie ignored him. "Have a good time polishing saddles, then?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head to the side.

"Oh, yeah. Real treat, that one." James scrubbed at his face. "Who's that bird you've got out there – Zsuzsa? She's fucking terrifying."

"You don't get promoted to head of equipment at my camp if you're scared to get your hands dirty," said Charlie. "Did you let her teach you a thing or two, or were you too busy looking for a way out?"

Al curled his legs up underneath himself and grinned, glancing between Charlie and James as if this were the best show in town.

James gave a petulant sigh. "Too busy looking for a way out," he snapped. "Which I _got_, thank you very much. She told me to quit wasting her time, so I went to the showers early _and_," he added, "it was a good thing, too, because I saw Krum again, and this time he was doing a hell of a lot more than just washing up, so you can _both_ shut your bloody–" James swallowed his next words, pressing his lips together and dropping his eyes. "Bollocks," he muttered, as Al sat forward, eyes wide.

"Wait," said Al, laughing. "You watched the poor man having a wank? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

James's eyes darted to Charlie. "What – he doesn't get the Crucio death grip for saying that?" he cried, pointing at Al.

Charlie folded his arms across his chest and glared. "No, because what _he_ said didn't involve the phrase 'nancy pervert.'"

"There's nothing wrong with watching a bloke have a wank," insisted James, flapping his hands.

"It's generally considered good manners to make sure the bloke in question _knows_ you're watching, though," Charlie pointed out, as Al buried his face in his hands.

"I'm _not_ a nancy pervert!" cried James, jumping to his feet. "He just– he's the greatest player in history! He's– I'm allowed to be _curious_ without being a big, flaming–"

"Let's get something straight, here," interrupted Charlie, his voice low but firm. James fell silent, and both he and Al blinked at Charlie. "I don't care what your parents or your mates at home let you do or say, but when you're here in my camp, under my roof, you're going to respect the way I live." He paused, trying to keep his temper in check. "And I don't care what your mother or your grandmother has told you about the way I live, you're both old enough to know better. I _know_ your father's taught you better," he added, leaning forward and pointing a finger at James. "So if you say that word, or any others like it, one more fucking time, you'll be swimming home and never coming back. Is that clear?"

James's face morphed from anger to disbelief. Finally, he dropped his eyes. "Yes, sir," he muttered.

"As for Viktor Krum." Charlie wiped a hand over his face. "Yes, he does odd jobs around here, and yes, I knew that. You're also well advised to stay away from him, and you will not fucking mention him to me again. Is _that_ clear?"

That information appeared to be quite a bit more shocking to both James and Al than the first. They both blinked at him, mouths gaping. Al eventually nodded, searching Charlie's face before elbowing James.

"_Fine_. Christ." James rubbed the back of his neck.

"Good." Charlie closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. "Dinner," he said when he'd composed himself. He nodded at the door. "Go on ahead and save us a table. I'll be along in a minute."

James stormed out the door in a huff. As Al passed the desk, he paused. "I always thought Krum was overrated," he said tentatively.

Charlie snorted, resting his chin in one hand. "Yeah, me too." He regarded Al for a few long seconds before reaching out to squeeze his arm. "Thanks, kid."

*

The next afternoon, Charlie sent both James and Al out with Claude to measure old Matilda's claws, figuring it would be good for Al to put his textbook down and actually get some fresh air, and good for James to work with someone who definitely would not take his bullshit.

And allow Al a bit of a peek at Claude in action. Charlie grinned at that as he set off across the main compound. So, the boy liked them tall and foreign, it seemed. Well, Weasleys always did have good taste in men.

He glanced over his shoulder as he quietly made his way into the rec hall and through the steam of the showers. As he'd expected, and as James had already confirmed that week, Viktor was there cleaning up after his shift, and he was alone. Charlie hugged the smooth tiles of one pillar and peered around it, resting his head against the warm condensation gathering on the ceramic.

He released a cool breath, the tension of the week with his nephews already beginning to seep away as he watched. Viktor stood under the spray, pushing his hair back and letting his hands glide down his neck. He grabbed a bar of soap from the ledge and rubbed it in his hands for a bit, working up a good lather, before moving it to his chest and making slow, sudsy circles over his body. He washed under his arms and down to his stomach, then paused to lift one foot and then the other. He turned back into the spray to rinse off, and Charlie wet his lips at the sight of the water running in rivulets over the curve of Viktor's arse and down his thighs. Charlie closed his eyes and swallowed a groan.

When Viktor turned again, one hand still soapy, he slid it slowly down his stomach and through the dark curls at his groin, lifting his prick and balls to wash underneath. He didn't move his hand away when he was finished washing, though. He turned to the side and leaned his free hand into the wet tiles, his head dropping between his shoulders. With slow, steady movements he began to stroke himself, his big fist sliding over his prick and his fingers pausing every few strokes to press into his balls.

Charlie felt the steam begin to gather at his temples and the back of his neck, sliding down to pool at the base of his spine. His t-shirt grew damp and stuck to his chest and his jeans tightened. But still he didn't move and tried his best not to make a sound.

Not even when Viktor murmured his name.

Viktor's thighs shook when he came, and the palm he'd laid flat against the tiled wall curled into a fist, banging out two sound _thumps_ as he sucked in a shuddering breath. His other hand dripped with come, squeezing out of his fist even as the water and suds washed it down the drain. Slowly, he seemed to pull himself together as he stepped fully under the spray again, shaking his hair out and then tilting his face up into the steam.

He stood there with his back to Charlie, naked and beautiful, with the wet curve of muscles sculpted under his skin and dark hair dusting his chest, thighs and groin. Charlie sucked his bottom lip under his teeth, his knuckles beginning to ache where they gripped the tile wall.

A moment later Viktor turned his head, glancing over his shoulder with one tendril of dark hair falling into his face. His gaze found Charlie peeking out from the far pillar. Charlie held his gaze, letting the moment swell between them. He could be happy with this man; he knew he could. If only the bloody fool didn't insist on –

"Join me," called Viktor softly, cutting off Charlie's train of thought. He held one hand up in invitation, letting the water plane off his palm.

Charlie regarded him a moment longer before slowly shaking his head. "Join _me_ for dinner with my lads," he called back, instantly huffing at the frown that seared across Viktor's face.

"I have told you this already," began Viktor, shutting the water off with an angry tug and pulling a towel from the shelf. "I cannot risk–"

"Yeah," Charlie interrupted, holding up a hand. "You've already told me. I know."

Viktor sighed, wrapping the towel around his waist and folding his arms across his chest as he glared at Charlie.

Charlie pushed himself off from the tiled pillar, hooking his thumbs into the back pockets of his jeans. "You know, I've got a kid out there who worships the ground you walk on, and another who's got no one to look up to, no one to tell him it's okay that he wants to suck a cock so badly he might explode one of these days." He jabbed a thumb back towards the door.

"He has you," said Viktor, his mouth a thin line. "_You_ can tell him it is okay."

"Yeah, he has me." Charlie paused. "And who do I have?"

"You do not need someone to tell you it is okay. You have always known this."

"I could've used someone when I was Al's age," insisted Charlie, "back when Bill sounded an awful lot like James does now and my folks sure as hell didn't know what to do with me. And I could use someone now who doesn't want to hide me, shoving me back in the closet when the fans come looking for an autograph."

Viktor ran a hand over his face.

"You _could_ be a hero to both of them, you know."

Viktor dropped his hand and looked away, letting out a nasty chuckle. "It is just so easy for you, hm? Judging me?"

"Not easy, no, but you're not giving me a lot of choice here," snapped Charlie, turning on his heel. "Maybe I should tell both of them that you're not the hero they think you are."

He left before Viktor could respond.

*

The next night, James was nowhere to be found at dinnertime, so Charlie and Al trudged off to the dining hall without him, Al chattering the entire way about his afternoon following Claude on his rounds again.

"And _then_ he just sort of stroked her whole foot, and she breathed a bit but not too much fire, more like she was happy, you know? And then she pushed her claw out for him, just like that! It was amazing! He's like the dragon whisperer. And he was talking to her in French, and she just sort of _melted_, you know? It was so amazing. And then he filed her down and she put out the next claw, and he was just _so good_ with her, and then he let me touch her foot, too, and he told me how to do it so she wouldn't get mad, and just. Wow. He's really cool." Al paused for breath at last, exhaling a reverent sigh.

Charlie bit back a grin. He'd checked his staff records, and at twenty-one Claude was still a bit too old for Al, but not obscenely so. Claude didn't have a reputation like those slags Jeremy or Martin, either, so Charlie could probably trust him not to push Al too far if anything _did_ happen between them. "That's great, kid. Glad you had a good time. Claude's definitely got a gift with Matilda."

Al nodded, still glassy-eyed. "He really does," he murmured.

Charlie's good mood dropped significantly, however, when they pushed the doors to the dining hall open and he saw James across the room, chattering away at Viktor's table.

"Bollocks," he muttered. Al followed his eyes.

"Do you– should we sit somewhere else?" stammered Al.

Charlie pressed his lips together and squared his shoulders. "No. Come on."

He and Al filled their trays and headed over to Viktor's table. Charlie greeted the other staff there before plunking down into a chair beside Viktor, eyeing James across the table.

James's eyes darted between them, but in the absence of an immediate reprimand from Charlie, he kept talking. "So, okay, be honest: that feint in the final game of the '02 World Cup _had_ to have been Karpovsky's idea, right? Because he was in a perfect position to beat the shit out of Nylund with a Bludger if you went left like that."

Viktor smiled. "No, that was my idea," he insisted. "But we had playbook, okay? It is not that– I mean, you cannot change play in the air." He waved his fork around. "You play; you should know this."

James huffed. "Well, _yeah_, but not at World Cup level, so–"

"Okay, but still. You have playbook? You stay with playbook. Karpovsky had many ideas, yes, but he did not tell these to me in the air." Viktor chuckled, shoving more food into his mouth.

"But in _'06_, it was totally different, right? Because then you had Wran–"

"Wrangl, yes, and he was very good." Viktor nodded, his eyes faraway. "_Very_ good player. Best I have played with, you know."

James's eyes went wide. "Really? He doesn't get nearly enough credit, then. Everyone's always going on about how the Bulgarian defence was shit, but Christ, they need to look at those old games!"

Viktor nodded, amused.

"Because seriously, Wrangl was _ace_, right? And once you got the Russians on side that year, there was no _way_ you weren't going to win the–"

Across from Charlie, Al rubbed his forehead with both hands, whimpering. "Make him stop," he moaned.

Charlie grinned at him, popping a bit of potato into his mouth. "Oi," he called to James. "Let the man eat, kid." He glanced over at Viktor and received a grateful smile followed by a bit of pressure against his thigh under the table. He let himself lean into the touch for a brief moment before pulling away with a cough. "Krum," he said roughly, pointing his fork at Al. "This is Albus Potter. And I see you've met James."

Viktor wiped his hands and extended one to Al, who shook it shyly. "Potter sons," murmured Viktor, shaking his head. "Amazing. I still remember your father at age fourteen, you know."

"We've heard a lot about you over the years," said Al.

"With the skill of your parents, you both must play well."

James rolled his eyes. "_I_ do, and Lily, our sister," he added, "she's all right, but Al's shit at Quidditch."

"Fuck off!"

"Well, you are!"

Viktor laughed. "It is not for everyone," he assured Al. "What are you good at, Albus?"

"Stupid shit like potions," sneered James.

"Let the man answer his own questions," said Charlie, giving James a hard look before glancing over at Al. "He's ace at potions, that's true, and he's sure got a thing going with these dragons. Might just have a future in magical creatures work." He winked at Al.

"Ah, good. There is good work to do at places like this." Viktor nodded around the hall.

"Yeah, but seriously." James leaned forward, ready for Viktor to let him in on the conspiracy. "What are you doing working at a place like this? You can't need the money."

"_James_," muttered Charlie, rubbing his eyes. "Christ. Were you raised by fucking Hinkypunks?"

"Well! Just–"

Viktor's jaw tightened. "No. Not for money."

Charlie glanced to the side to see Viktor gazing across the hall as he slowly chewed another bite. Suddenly the whole charade seemed even more ridiculous than before. He sat back and folded his arms over his chest. "All right," he challenged, "then what _are _you doing shovelling dragon shit in the bowels of Romania, Krum? Superstar like you must have other options." He silently dared Viktor to meet his gaze. When he did, it wasn't full of the venom Charlie had expected.

Viktor regarded him with a mixture of sorrow and wistfulness on his face. "I have other options, yes," he said quietly, "but I choose to be here." He swallowed. "With people who are here."

Charlie resisted the warring urges to either kiss him or punch him. Instead, he broke the gaze and glanced over at Al, who was staring at the two of them with his lips parted and his chin resting in his hand, as though the scene before him had been played out on black-and-white film footage of star-crossed lovers.

"Uncle _Charlie_," Al murmured, looking like he might just start to cry. "Did you _hear _that? He still wants to be with–"

"Al," said Charlie quietly, his voice a firm warning, and Al fell silent.

Oblivious to the entire rest of the table, never mind the drama of the three men around him, James resumed his own version of the conversation. "Well, I don't pretend to understand it," he said sadly, shaking his head. "No offence, Uncle Charlie," he added. "It's great here and everything, but I can't say I'd want to live here. Besides–" He turned back to Viktor – "weren't you dating some Polish model not too long ago? Where's she at now? I remember pictures at the last European championships of you in the crowd with that amazing blonde."

Viktor blanched, but quickly recovered. "Magda," he managed. "She was Czech."

James let out a low whistle and made a rude gesture with his hands. "Tell you what. I've got a girlfriend at home, yeah? And she's, I mean, a great girl, right? But man, if _Magda_ walked into this hall right now, I would so absolutely fight you for that."

"Don't think it'd be much of a fight," said Al under his breath.

Charlie pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Well, uh," stammered Viktor. "She is maybe too old for you."

James ignored him. "And you were with Dante Picard for awhile too, right? I remember that was in the papers. Man, you must get _so much _pus–"

"_James_."

"–_pretty girls_, Uncle Charlie, _God_, what did you think I was going to say?"

"I do all right," muttered Viktor. He took a deep breath and picked up his tray. "Okay. It is nice to meet you, Potter sons." He glanced at Charlie and opened his mouth as if to say something else, but seemed to think the better of it. He pushed his chair back and left the hall quickly.

As James launched into another story, Charlie lowered his eyes to his plate, more annoyed and confused than he'd been since he was sixteen years old.

*

After dinner, Charlie sent the boys back to his cabin, telling them he had to make some rounds for camp business, and then stalked over to the guest cabin Viktor had moved into after their fight the week before.

He knocked on the door at the same time he turned the knob, not waiting for an answer. He entered just as Viktor emerged from the loo, shirtless, with his face damp and a small towel slung around his shoulders.

Viktor sighed at the sight of him. "What now? I met your nephews. This is what you wanted, no?"

"Don't you dare." Charlie stalked forward, stopping mere centimetres from Viktor. "You will not stand there and tell me that talking about _pussy_ with my nephew is the same fucking thing as telling him that you're here because of _me_, that you work here and live here because you want to, because I'm here, because we're in this together, you stupid fucking coward."

Viktor narrowed his eyes. He snapped the towel from around his shoulders and used it to push Charlie back, his hand on Charlie's chest. "And then what, hm? He goes back home and tells his friends that Viktor Krum is a faggot, and then my agent calls from Sofia and tells me that Firebolt XL has new person they want, and I do not have fifty thousand Galleons this year."

"You don't care about that money!"

"And _then_ Durmstrang does not invite me to coach there this summer. And then Ginny Potter gives interview that the Harpies always suspected there was something strange about those Bulgarians, and then Karpovsky tells me that any man who ever played with me feels–"

"That's shit. That's complete shit, and you're using it as an excuse. Fucking _Magda_." Charlie swallowed, trying not to get distracted by the droplets of water sliding down the side of Viktor's face. "I don't care how big her tits were, you couldn't get it up for that princess with all the potions in the world, Christ." He moved forward, pushing Viktor back against the wall and breathing him in. "You're mine, you know."

Viktor's hands instinctively curled into the waist of Charlie's jeans, tugging. "Yeah?"

"I know I'm the one you want."

Viktor's hands slid under Charlie's t-shirt.

Charlie lifted his arms and let Viktor shove the shirt over his head, throwing it down to the floor. He took Viktor's face in his hands and searched his eyes, even as he pressed their bodies against the wall. "You _can't_ care what they think," he murmured.

With a groan, Viktor's hand slid down to cup Charlie's cock through his jeans. Charlie closed his eyes and ground forward, pulling Viktor in for a searing kiss. He let his anger and frustration course through him, just as he knew it was coursing through Viktor as well, and poured everything into that kiss. His hands slid into Viktor's hair and tugged, then back around to scratch down his neck. His thumbs moved to press into Viktor's jaw as his tongue dragged over Viktor's bottom lip. They groaned together, Viktor's hand sliding between Charlie's legs.

"Fuck," muttered Charlie, pulling back to unzip his jeans and push them down. Gazing down, Viktor licked his lips as he pulled Charlie's cock out. He muttered a charm and Charlie fell against him, moaning at the slippery feel of his cock hard and pulsing in Viktor's grip. "Get me off, then," he muttered, his mouth moving up the side of Viktor's neck. "If that's all I am to you, a bloke you pull off every so often between all the women you're apparently fucking, then fine, just do it, and I won't bother you beyond that."

Viktor paused, pushing Charlie back enough to look into his eyes. His hand stilled. "This is what you think?" he asked quietly. "You think I move here, learn everything about dragons and all of this, move in with you, only because I wish to get you off sometimes?"

Charlie bit his lip, gazing down at Viktor's fingers as they resumed a slow slide over his prick.

"You know how I grew up," whispered Viktor. "You know it is difficult for me."

Charlie felt a pang of guilt. His hands dropped from Viktor's shoulders to his trousers and unfastened them, slowly pressing his own fingers to Viktor's prick. "I know," he murmured, his lips finding Viktor's neck again. "Just, come here." He moved his hand to his own erection and slid his fist around it, gathering some of the moisture from Viktor's spell in his palm. Viktor watched Charlie touch himself, both of them breathing heavily with their chests rising and falling together. When he felt slick enough, he slid his hand free and moved back to Viktor, circling his prick and beginning to stroke.

"_Charlie_." Viktor sought his mouth again, and this time the kiss was quieter, less urgent.

They moved together slowly, kissing and touching with fingers moving over skin and warm mouths breathing each other in. Charlie pushed up into Viktor's fist and felt Viktor's cock surge the same way in his own, their movements building in tandem as their free hands roamed up each other's chests. When he got close, Charlie moaned into Viktor's mouth and pressed his cock in further against him, until Viktor opened his hand and took them both in. With his hands free, Charlie slid slippery fingers up Viktor's bare chest and neck, framing his face and deepening the kiss again as his hips thrust forward.

Viktor stopped kissing him when he came, his mouth falling open and a low groan rising up from his chest. He was fucking gorgeous, with his stomach muscles clenched and his face drawn in such pleasure, and the feel of Viktor's cock pulsing against his made Charlie shudder himself. The floor nearly melted away beneath him and he fell against Viktor, panting, and felt Viktor smile against his neck.

*

Against his better judgement, Charlie spent the night in Viktor's cabin. At dawn, he finally left a kiss on the small of Viktor's back as he slept, sprawled out on his stomach. As Charlie emerged from the cabin, sweaty and sticky and grinning like an idiot, he nearly tripped over James sitting on the front steps.

"What the fuck are you– oh." He glanced back at the cabin. "I– uh. Okay. So, good morning."

James glanced up. "Morning."

"Sorry. I, uh, should have told you two I wouldn't be back last night."

James seemed to be in a trance. "'s all right. We figured it out."

Charlie raised an eyebrow.

"Well, okay, not quite. But, I mean, _now_ I did."

Charlie pulled his shirt over his head and finished buckling his jeans, then sat down next to James. "Okay, well, you already knew I date men, right?"

"Uncle Charlie." James gave him a look. "There are lost tribes in the desert who haven't had human contact in a hundred years, who know you date men."

Charlie snorted, running a hand over his face. "Yeah, well, don't figure there's much point in hiding it."

"Right, I know, so that's why I came to find you. I have something to tell you." His voice turned grave, and Charlie peeked between his fingers, suddenly concerned.

"What? Is Al okay?"

James exhaled a slow breath, his eyes on the sky. "Oh, Al's _fine_. More than fine, if you judge by how much arse he's been getting. More than me, at any rate, which is so totally _not on_, but, Christ, Trinity wants to _wait_, yeah? And just, ugh. What's a bloke to do?"

Charlie squinted at him. "Is this what you wanted to tell me?"

James waved a hand. "No. Pay attention." He turned to Charlie. "This might come as a surprise, but I wanted you to know first, because you're a big poof yourself so you'll probably be okay with it – and _no_, that's not a bad word; I mean it with all due endearment, so don't yell at me again."

A wave suddenly hit Charlie in the stomach. _James?_ No fucking way. "All right, kid," he said gently. "What is it?"

James took a deep breath, his hand on Charlie's arm. "I think Al might be gay."

Charlie blinked.

"I just saw him down by the lake with that French bloke he was spying on in the shower, and they looked, you know, a bit friendly."

Charlie jumped to his feet. "Claude, you fucker," he growled, starting to charge down the steps.

"No, hold on," called James. "I didn't see pricks or anything. Just tongues."

Charlie paused, turning back around. He trudged up the steps again and plunked down. "Okay, so, how do you feel about this?"

James puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. "I don't know. I mean, can't he do better than someone _French_? We had this group from Beauxbatons visit for a few weeks last year, and the girls were bloody brilliant, but the blokes were all total dickheads." He shook his head sadly. "_And_ that one's so hairy. I think he should probably keep looking."

"I– okay." Charlie rubbed his temples. "But Claude aside, I meant, how do you feel about Al maybe being gay?"

"What? Oh." James got up, dusting the dirt from the steps off his arse before sighing. "Dad and Lily'll be thrilled; Mum'll probably be weird about it for a bit but whatever; and like I said, the kid's already getting more tongue down his throat than I've had this summer, Christ. Besides, maybe I should think about it, you know? It's not like Trinity's going to be taking off the chastity belt anytime soon, and anyway, if even Viktor Krum can take a cock up the arse, maybe I'm really missing out on something." He waved his hand back at the cabin.

Halfway through scratching at the stubble on his jaw, Charlie froze. "Uh. Well." He coughed. "He's, uh, sort of sensitive about that. You mind not broadcasting it back home just yet?"

James grinned, giving Charlie a light kick to the shins. "You two and your puppy dog eyes at dinner last night. _Honestly_. Like I'm the village idiot. Look, if he thinks it's a big deal, tell him it's not twentieth century Bulgaria anymore, yeah? Dad says she probably didn't know it, but Mum was the only straight woman on the Harpies for twenty years." He rolled his eyes. "If Krum's locker rooms were anything like the Hufflepuffs last year, helping a bloke out in the shower was the least of what was going on."

Charlie ran his hands through his hair, pausing to hook them around the back of his neck. "I'll tell him that," he said, grinning.

"All right, good talk." James jogged down the steps, dusting his hands off as if to say, _well, that takes care of that_. "I'm going to go see if that Zsuzsa likes 'em young and firm." He flexed his biceps and ran off. "See you at dinner!"

Charlie sat on the steps for another few minutes as the sun blinked over the horizon, rays of orange morphing to bright yellow against the cloudless sky. Then he got up, dusted himself off, and quietly let himself back into the cabin. Still sprawled out across the bed and oblivious to his renewed hero status, Viktor slept on.

Breakfast, Charlie decided, could wait.

 

-fin-


End file.
